


Screwup

by quantum27



Series: Clawed Tronzler Extended Universe [4]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types
Genre: AU of an AU, Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood, Clawed Tronzler Extended Universe, Gen, i don't know what the title is but thanks thesaurus im laughing at the title, just a tiny bit, of an angst thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29647533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantum27/pseuds/quantum27
Summary: The Grid can Only do So Much when it comes to missing code.
Series: Clawed Tronzler Extended Universe [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154939
Comments: 13
Kudos: 17





	Screwup

**Author's Note:**

> clarification. au of the au. that is all.

Alan grit his teeth as a disk flew by his head. His breath was labored as he kept running; he had no choice but to. His mind was going a mile a minute as he struggled to come up with a plan, any sort of plan against the two guards that were following him. Clu’s guards, presumably. How he’d gotten into this mess was far too complicated and yet so simple. And now he was running for his life. He had a feeling that if he got out alive that he’d have more gray hairs at his temples than he already did. 

Again, a disk flew by his head, and he let out a grunt of frustration. In a split second decision he turned, withdrew his own disk from it’s dock and chucked it at the guards behind him. The disk flew into a guard’s chest and he split into thousands of tiny cubes. Like it was almost second nature Alan repeated the process, watching with some satisfaction as it happened, and disgust at what he’d done. What he’d had to do. 

He let out a sigh of relief, before leaning over, putting his hands on his knees and catching his breath. His lungs burned; that must’ve been at least a mile run through the streets of this city. Alan’s eyes focused on the disk in his left hand, glowing still, the heat of it warming his knee. He turned it off, once again like he knew what he was doing. Which wasn’t possible, he didn’t know what he was doing. Not Really. He’d never ever even really played frisbee and when he had he’d been terrible at it. 

Standing up to his full height and docking his disk he looked around, the street quiet; he must’ve been lucky that he’d chosen this route. He took a few steps forward before stumbling to a wall and leaning against it, his body halting in response to the series of events that had just taken place. He’d just killed someone. Two Someones. Dead. Because of him. Granted they were trying to kill him first, but. 

He rested his head against his arm, glasses digging into the bridge of his nose. His hands still felt tense- both of them from the task. 

Alan pulled his head away from his arm, gaze shifting to his hand. There was something off about it. He brought it towards his face, frowning as he studied his fingers for a moment. 

An Urge struck him. One he hadn’t had in a long while; a habit he’d had all his life. To pick at his fingernails. He’d stopped it after starting to trim them preemptively so he didn’t do that but- 

He squinted at them. They were definitely longer. 

“What the hell.” 

Ok, he could reason this out. Maybe. He was in a computer. Maybe time worked differently when you were  _ literally inside a computer. _ Maybe it was faster. Therefore his fingernails had grown longer in a shorter amount of time. In order to test the theory, he ran his hands through his hair to check the length and- it was...still the same. 

"Ohh, maybe I'm just losing it at this point." He said as he looked over them once more. Maybe he had come in here with them this long and it was the stress response that was making it appealing to pick at them. That would make sense. Probably.

"C'mon Alan, just pull yourself together."

* * *

He had no idea where he was walking to, to be perfectly honest. He was lost and frustrated and he was clenching his hands so hard they hurt. Or at least that's why he told himself they hurt. He looked down again at his hands, still trying to place what was Off about them. 

There was something Wrong with him, he determined as he looked down at them. It felt like the beds of his nails were digging deep into his fingers. He didn’t even know why; but there was something happening to him whether he wanted to admit it or not. It had to be something involving the fact he was in a computer. That was the only thing he could figure. Maybe when you went into computers your hands got Weird for No Reason. Right. 

All he wished he could do was maybe get a look at his...code. Assuming that was what he was made of. If he could see it then maybe he could-

Alan took in a sharp breath, “ _ Identity Disk. _ ” 

He was familiar enough with the lore of ‘ _ Tron _ ’ by now to know that the disks were quite literally what they sounded like. Disks containing a program’s identity. And their code. 

He undocked his disk from his back. It once again felt Far too Familiar in his hands. Even more familiar than before. It was eerie. 

Just like before activating the interface of the thing was almost subconscious. And maybe it was; considering that this. Was Him. On a disk.

Most of the code was incomprehensible like someone had gone up to a computer and simply smashed their hands on the keyboard. Yet, every once in a while he found code that he could understand. Code that was familiar somehow, but was too broken up for him to understand. 

Eventually, he found some sort of error-log; it was clear and to the point and he stilled as he read it. Apparently, he was known as a ‘ _.user _ ’ file, but for some reason he wasn’t being read by the system correctly. Like he hadn’t been installed quite right. And so the system was reading someone else’s code in order to make up for it.  _ Tron’s code.  _

That meant that the broken up code was- and he- 

His hands shook as the realization sunk in, an awful feeling settling in his chest. He closed his eyes, taking in one deep breath after another trying to calm himself. 

When he opened his eyes again they focused on his hands, not entirely of his own accord. Thin liquid lines of red were flowing slowly down the sides of his fingers from the sides of his nails as they dug into his skin. His hands shook as he watched a drop fall to the ground. What did this mean- What was the system reading in Tron’s code that was making his fingers…? 

He started to read over the code again, hoping to find whatever it was that was causing it. With growing alarm, he realized that the code was mangled somehow. Like an amateur programmer had patched the program to be  _ worse _ rather than better. It was hard for him to tell what the ‘updates’ were even supposed to do. Whatever they were- the system was obviously reading parts of Tron’s code and applying it to him to fill in whatever the missing pieces it needed to read from him. Considering at least that he wasn’t Tron it wasn’t reading the program fully but…

He shook his head; he needed to keep moving. Staying in one place increased the likelihood of being found. 

* * *

“ _ Who are you? _ ” Alan growled, holding his disk at the ready; trying to ignore the way his fingernails now held a slight blue glow and were even longer than they were before; looking like some odd nail painting gone wrong. The dried blood wasn’t helping the look at all. And then there was the fact that it felt like his suit’s sleeves were melding with his skin. 

The program held up her hands, “I’m a friend-”

“That’s not what I asked.” Frustration colored his tone.

“Quorra. My name is Quorra. And you’re Alan Bradley, right?” 

Alan’s disk wavered in his hand, “How do you know my name?” 

“Well, you didn’t let me finish. I’m a friend of Flynn’s.” 

Alan dropped his disk. His hands once again were shaking, though this time he couldn’t tell if it was from the shock or the pain. 

_ Flynn. _

Who was alive- Who had gone into a computer and disappeared but despite the chaos that had obviously happened- He was  _ alive.  _

Emotions swirled in Alan. Joy, Frustration, Sadness, Confusion- and emotions he would never be able to put names to. His circuits  _ and _ fingertips flashed in time with them- each wave of emotion overtaking him. 

“Flynn.” He repeated aloud- and then hissed as the cuffs of his suit sleeves seemed to burn and stretch from his wrist and up his hands a little farther. It was beginning to get hard to tell the difference between where his hand ended and his suit started. 

“You- Your suit-” Quorra’s eyes were wide as she focused on the way the suit stopped shifting. 

“It’s something.” Alan lowly said, “You can take me to Flynn?” 

* * *

Whatever had happened here had obviously happened recently and had not been good- The place was full of programs who had odd injuries; each cubic slash across a person’s body made Alan wince. 

“What happened here?” 

“...Our resistance is falling apart- Ever since the one at Argon did. And we didn’t even have contact with them.” Quorra said quietly.

“Resistance…?” He didn’t have a reference point for at least sixty percent of that response. He shook his head, hair falling to his forehead. Alan went to sweep it away from his face, flinching when his too-long nails brushed against his forehead. 

“It’s a lot to explain. Flynn will help put it in terms that you can understand, I’m sure of it…” She blinked, “I have so many questions I’ve been curious to ask another User, but it seems like that will have to wait.” 

The programmer had a thin smile spread across his face, “Of course. Eventually.” 

Quorra led him through the place; programs all around finding comfort in each other. Companionship could even be found in a computer, apparently. It wasn’t just red-circuited guards.

* * *

Alan’s breath hitched when he saw him. He looked mostly the same- he now had a few gray hairs in his hair, and more stubble than usual, and maybe darker circles under his eyes, but he really was the same. Except for the haunted look in his eyes as he turned to face him.

“Alan?”

“ _ Flynn _ .” 

The two men rushed forward to each other, Alan forgetting his frustration for the moment, and grasped each other in a hug. It seemed to last forever and yet not long enough. When they pulled out of it Flynn flinched, and he realized he’d grasped his forearms with his ever-lengthening nails which seemed to be burning a brighter blue light now more than ever, the black of the suit almost meeting his fingernails.

“That’s not-” Flynn took his hand in his own, even now invading Alan’s space in a way that felt comfortable despite the fact, “What is this…?”

“According to what I was able to find on my disk- it says that it’s...reading me incorrectly. Filling in the blanks with Tron’s code…”

Flynn cursed quietly under his breath, “Of course Clu would get rid of the code that configures…” He trailed off before staring at the mangled hand, “Tron doesn’t have...this though and he’s-” His eyes went wide, “That means he’s  _ alive _ .” 

“Alive and with.” Alan looked at his hands as it all suddenly clicked in his head, “ _ Claws? _ ” 

It was the only possible explanation- and just as it clicked it seemed like the suit finished melding with his hand. There was no visible skin anymore. And the ends of his nails were starting to curve downward; not yet sharp- but Alan was pretty sure that was where they were heading. Flynn let out a quiet whistle at the sight. 

“There is. Rinzler.” Quorra said from behind them, the two men turning to face her. They’d been so caught up in their reunion they’d forgotten. 

“Rinzler?” Flynn asked. 

“Clu’s newest…” Quorra glanced away, “I don’t even know how to explain.” 

“Well, you can take your time to think about it,” Flynn frowned, “I owe Alan an explanation.”

* * *

It was disturbing that all the while as Flynn explained that Alan’s hands started to feel more Right in the way he held them. He was trying to ignore it as Flynn told his stories of grandeur of being an unwitting victim of digitization to being a faux god, and finally, a refugee from his own creation. His fingers twitched as his irritation rose and fell in time with the stories. Finally when Flynn had finished, the circles under his eyes deep, he looked to Alan, preparing for his reaction. 

“So?” He asked. 

“ _ So _ …?” Alan repeated in a low voice, “- So??? That’s. After all that that’s all that you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know- Maybe give me an actual fucking reason for why you did all this?” Alan snapped, circuits flashing. 

Flynn sighed, exhaustion radiating off of him in waves, “All the ‘reasons’ I had were just. Excuses I would tell myself were proper reasons. If you really want to hear them, I’d tell you, but…”

“Alright  _ fine _ ,” He hissed back, “Don’t even try then, see if I  _ care _ -”

“Bradley-” Flynn’s eyes flickered, something Alan couldn’t read flashing in them. He couldn't, he was just so. Angry. 

Alan stalked towards him, pulling by his coat, their faces coming close together, “ _ Maybe, just maybe, I want an apology. _ ” 

Flynn flinched at the snarl, “I- Of course I’m sorry Alan- but I didn’t know you wanted to hear it right now- You’re just so angry-”

“I’m not  _ angry _ -”

And yet he pushed the other man away and raised his hand without meaning to. It should’ve been a fist. A punch. Instead, his fingers curled in just right in order to leave a perfect slash of red across Flynn’s face. He curled in on himself, clutching his face with a low whine of pain before looking back up at him. Alan blinked as it set in, his anger dissipating. 

He took a step back, his eyes flickering down to his hand. It was Done. For the first time since Alan had been in here, he felt like he was truly himself again. Even if he wasn’t. Even if he now had.  _ Claws... _ The claws now elegantly curved into a sharp point, looking like they'd fit well on a predator. The glowing blue of the claws sent shivers up Alan’s spine. It was a much richer, almost more purposeful blue than his other circuits, which were more white-colored than blue. And now there was blood...literally staining his hands. 

“Flynn-” He looked away from them back to the other man, “I didn’t mean to-” 

Flynn held up a hand to silence him, before ripping off a piece of his sleeve and pressing it to his face. Quorra rushed up from behind Alan, and he felt bad- he’d forgotten she was there to begin with she’d been so quiet. 

“I’m fine.” He reassured her. 

“Are you sure-?”

“I am.” He smiled at her, and then it turned to a frown, “But now I think it’s time you tell us about. Rinzler.” 

Quorra looked up at Alan and then his claws. 

Alan felt something odd settle into the center of his chest as she began to explain. Something he couldn’t quite explain. 

**Author's Note:**

> lowkey mad at myself my first fic with quorra she's barely in it but y'know what i haven't written anything in awhile and this is pretty ok.


End file.
